End of an Era
by Cherie-24-Addict
Summary: "I'm dying, damn it. Accept the fact, like I have, please, and spare yourself the pain." An intimate and tragic look at Renee's final moments, as they devastatingly and hastily unfurl. Major spoilers for 8x17. Review, please, it means the world to me.


24: The End of an Era

Genre: Tragedy/Romance

Characters: Jack B. & Renee W.

**The End of an Era**

One phone call.

That's all it takes to destroy an era: the last chance at happiness that they are both grasping desperately at.

As Jack is busying himself in the kitchen, Renee answers his phone, despite his protests and belief in refraining from becoming involved in the affairs that CTU and the Taylor Administration are in the middle of investigating.

It's Chloe on the other line, and when it's mentioned that IRK terrorist Samir Mehran, the man who orchestrated the attempted nuclear attack on Manhattan last night and this morning, is dead, a pit forms in Renee's stomach. She sits up in bed, wrapping a sheet around her sweaty body, trying to comprehend exactly what Chloe has just stated. When the Counter Terrorist Unit's newest director asks her for any possible help, she realizes that the answer to this has been in front of her the entire time.

"There was an EMT at the scene," she begins. "He looked familiar…"

"Familiar?" Chloe questions. "How?"

Renee, feeling an unwanted sense of urgency, says, "I need you to get my FBI case files. Everything about Red Square."

There's a small pause. "You think this has something to do with the Russian mob?" Chloe asks, sounding as shocked as Renee feels.

"He looked like someone who was with Vladimir Laitanan while I was under," she replies, shuddering as she mentally relives some of those experiences, including the most recent ones.

"Are you sure?" Chloe asks, seemingly skeptical. "That was nearly six years ago!"

"Just send me the case files, all the surveillance photos taken," Renee says impatiently. "I'll look through, see if he's in any of them."

"Okay," Chloe agrees.

Renee grabs her sheet dress and moves purposefully towards the kitchen, where Jack seems to be preparing an assortment of drinks.

"Jack," she calls out to her lover, "you need to hear this. Samir Mehran…"

Suddenly, she gasps as her stomach is ripped through. She hears the glass of the window pane break, and, too late for any effectiveness whatsoever, the pieces begin to click together. She's been shot two inches below her chest. Not necessarily a shot she'd be proud of herself, but it's still a bullet to contend with.

She sputters as she feels hot liquid rushing into her lungs. It's blood, she realizes as she lies limply on the floor of Jack's bedroom. Her lungs are filling up with blood. This is death: slow, painful, and real. She's dying, and there's nothing she can do about it.

Memories from her past begin to flow back to her at the speed of light, and she cringes. Partly from the pain, but also because of everything she's losing.

Someone picks up her blanching body, and she begins to hyperventilate. It's Jack, though, which makes it better. He whispers to her words of encouragement and endearment. She's so glad he's trying to rescue her, she thinks as he starts to run down a hallway and a flight of stairs with her in his arms.

At least, that's what she _thinks_ is happening. Her vision is starting to dim, the concentrated area of pain starting to become larger, so she's not sure if her hearing is helping or betraying her warped reflexes.

As they rush head on into what must be typical Manhattan rush hour traffic, it vaguely occurs to Renee how incredibly ironic this whole debacle is. Less than a day ago, she was an empty, dark, depressed woman, one with absolutely nothing worthwhile in her daily life. Yet this life was so cruel as to keep her breathing when she wanted nothing more than a fatal gunshot to enter her body. Now, while she's realizing the full extent of her love for and devotion to Jack, while she finally has something to live for again, the rug is being pulled out from under her feet, and her twisted wish is coming true.

If she were the type of person to complain, she'd whine, scream, curse, cry tears of pain and anguish, and moan about how unbelievably unfair this is. But that's not who she is. If not for herself, she must stay strong for _Jack_, for when he realizes that he will be unable to save the woman he loves. As if this isn't already unfair enough for herself, the fact that she's dying at least forty-five years before her time, Jack is going to take this incredibly hard.

For the first time in years (and probably the last time), Renee recalls her Catholic upbringing and turns her attention upward.

_God_, she thinks, _if you even exist at all… this is my dying wish. Allow jack to do whatever he needs to do to continue on with his life and move forward from this. If he needs to avenge my death, let it be done so that he can just move on. He doesn't need to deal with this pain for the next however many years. And never let him forget how much I love him and want him to be happy, even though I won't be there._

She's satisfied by the statement she's made, but her thoughts are overcome as a third wave of pain, by far the largest one, overwhelms her sense. In a panic she calls out to the one who she knows will make everything okay.

"Jack!" she chokes, using a barely audible whisper. "Jack!"

He hears her and whispers, "Hey," as she cries and moans, as the pain starts to cause her to lose it. "It's okay. We're gonna get you to the hospital," he assures her. "Everything's going to be fine…"

What Renee really wants to ask him is, _Do you really believe in that? Who are you trying to convince here, Jack, me or yourself? You're not fooling anyone, Bauer, especially not me. I'm dying, damn it. Accept the fact, like I have, _please_, and spare yourself the pain._

All that's articulated, though, are small groans and a hyperventilation which grows increasingly faster by the second. As the colors of the world around her blur and fade to a disgusting shade of sepia, Renee vaguely feels herself being lifted onto a rolling gurney, barely hearing the shouts of her lover as he runs alongside her.

_Jack_, she thinks, using all the effort she can. _Jack, I love you. I'm sorry._

She's wheeled into what must be an emergency operating room, and her eyes fill with tears as she realizes that she's never coming out unless she's covered by a sheet or body bag. This is the end. She will never again run, or laugh, or read a novel, or listen to music, or speak Russian with her mother, or hear the soothing click of her Glok, or feel Jack's tender kisses along every inch of her skin. Worst of all is the fact that she will never see Jack Bauer ever again.

As the world around her starts to blacken, the last color she sees is the beautiful blue-green ocean that makes up Jack's irises. She fiercely immerses herself in the soothing, gentle color as she feels her heartbeat begin to slow down for the last time.

_I'm sorry, so sorry,_ she weeps to herself, _but this is how it ends._

_I love you, with all of my heart, with all of me. Goodbye, Jack._


End file.
